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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009609">Unbound</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Masked_Laughter/pseuds/The_Masked_Laughter'>The_Masked_Laughter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons &amp; Dragons - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Inspired by Dungeons &amp; Dragons, Multi, Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:01:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Masked_Laughter/pseuds/The_Masked_Laughter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Tiefling boy finds himself in a city under siege, and attempts to make sense of what the fates have forged for him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Unbound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Aetrai,</p>
<p>Aetrai?</p>
<p>Aetrai!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An intake of breath, the ringing in his ears that caused the blackout still very much present he looked up, seeing the woman who called his name backing away up the street with panicked eyes still very much set on him.</p>
<p>Reaching out he felt pain, glancing down and spotting shrapnel lodged in the soft spot between his ribcage and hip, the blood already pooled around him. He was dying. He knew this, vision blurring as he watched Illiara’s form disappear around the corner and blackened silhouettes following in pursuit.</p>
<p>His hand falling weakly against the cobbled streets of Neverwinter he noted the grooves between the stones slicked red, flowing down the street from up ahead as a portent to the bloodletting taking place, the ringing in his ears slowly being replaced by the cries, screams and battle shouts of a city under siege.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Darkness.</p>
<p>For how long he found himself in it he did not know, but by chance or by sheer will alone he managed to force his eyes to open, numbed by both bloodless and the cold and noting through hindered vision the unnatural night sky that loomed above now.</p>
<p>The sounds of battle seemed to have quietened, the screams however did not, and it was these that almost left him deafened to the sound of movement coming up the street from behind him.</p>
<p>A man. A man... <em>Whistling</em>? The sound of paws tapping against the stones suggesting a beast of some sort too.</p>
<p>Stilling his breath he rendered himself as motionless as possible when at the pit of his stomach he suddenly felt a feeling most foul, a feeling made manifest when the sound of a quiet plea followed by a gasp for air was heard made it very clear this man was no saviour.</p>
<p><em>“Be silent.” </em>He told himself in his own mind, squeezing his eyes shut.</p>
<p>“Silence will not forestall inevitability.” A voice replied, him noting that the whistling had stopped and the voice seemed to have came from the man himself.</p>
<p><em>“Did I speak out loud?” </em>He asked himself in his mind once more, eyes still tight shut and praying that the hearing of voices was naught more than the blood loss causing delirium.</p>
<p>The sound of boots stopping abruptly beside him, and the scraping of stones as they turned to face him made think so, but this time the voice did not reply and instead he felt something cold against his cheek, prompting him to open his eyes.</p>
<p>
  <em>An elf?</em>
</p>
<p>Indeed before him stood an elf, though his eyes could have sworn he observed something darker if only for a moment. Clad in armour of black, its plates shimmering as if the home of a constellation the elf looked down with a look of neutrality about him, taller than any man he had seen before and accompanied by a wolf with a coat as black as coal. He remembered Illiara’s tales about such creatures, ‘The Grim’, she had called them.</p>
<p>“You need speak no more, child.” The elf said in a voice that was deep but calming, the calmness of it being the catalyst that sparked him to panic. It did not matter though, his panic short lived as he felt the cold from his cheek move down and against his jaw drawing blood as it went, his eyes shifting weakly from the wolf to its master, Illiara’s name barely passing his lips before the blade that rested against his flesh was drawn across his throat.</p>
<p>It was in his last moments that the whistling begun again, the elf returning to delivering the coup de grace to the dying, the white cloak he wore billowing behind him sporting a black symbol of a Raven’s head before darkness found him again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Darkness.</p>
<p>For how long he found himself in it he did not know. But by chance… Or by sheer will alone he found himself standing in a hall of splendour, swirling white marble pillars decorated with intricate flowing patterns that glowed with a pale blueish green hue. Looking skywards he saw only the stars and looking below he saw a reflection of himself.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>A reflection of all that he was. And all that he failed to be.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He did not know why or what caused it, but his gaze moved up and ahead to a figure at the far end of the hall sat in a throne upon a dais. Without thought his legs carried him, eyes locked forward despite the skittering he could hear moving from behind the pillars at either side of him and the itching... No, the clawing in the back of his skull.</p>
<p>Drawing closer he could pick out more when it came to details of the figure, a slender elven woman with hair as white as snow and a look of serenity about her. He felt inclined to bow, but his body would not allow him as he peered down to his hands, pale and pallid in colour before staring back to the woman, joined now by the reflection of himself at her side.</p>
<p>He was quick to make note of her nakedness, her body carrying with a glow that shone much like the moon above, but despite the visage he felt compelled to look upon the ivory mask that sat on the arm of the throne, him noting the similarity between that and a sigil he saw recently. A Raven’s head mask.</p>
<p>He attempted to recall where he had seen it before, but his mind became muddled and hazy, but the image was there, at the very edge of his psyche, he needed only reach out and grasp it but when he did it was pulled just that touch further away until finally the feelings it inspired caused him to retch, his eyes shifting down towards the floor as he did only to find himself stood upon nothing now.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Compose yourself.”</em>
</p>
<p>Looking up he found such an action difficult, seeing now that same throne ruined, and occupied by skeletal remains clutching a broken mask and without hesitation he moved. He moved three steps before the ground gave way and he felt himself falling forwards until he was standing once more, upon the other side of the floor now looking down at a reflection of himself. Of whom he <em>was</em>, a desiccated body left now as sustenance to the carrion and to the maggots.</p>
<p>
  <em>A coldness.</em>
</p>
<p>A coldness that felt familiar to him, though he could not recall where filled his entire being, and lack thereof as in his looking towards the floor he noted the pale hand reach towards his chest from ahead of him and passing through to grip at his heart.</p>
<p>It was then that he knew why he was here. And who <em>they</em> were. He knew what was, and what was not. All that was, and all that was never there to begin with.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was free.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The gates are breached! The castle is ours!”</p>
<p>“The castle! The castle is ours! Neverwinter is ours!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He opened his eyes, hands clasped at his front and looking down towards a weather worn grave marker. A humble little thing sporting the name ‘Illiara’.  Behind him soldiers of the elven kingdom and of the human alliance hurried by on occasion now that the bombardment had ceased, and the ‘Dreadlord’ had been pushed back into whatever hellscape he had hailed from.</p>
<p>A voice from behind, the Sword of Mourning. “Shorthorn.” The title prompted him to glance over towards his shoulder and to the one that spoke it. “Three hundred years of war against the one that held this city. And you chose to look at gravestones?”</p>
<p>“You may call me Slinks, I will allow it.” He grinned back, glancing towards the marker once again. “Slinks then. His Majesty has requested your presence in his halls. To this day neither he nor I know how you have managed to sneak into this city and bring back the information about its layout that you have. But without it this victory would not have been possible, and his Majesty has elected to offer you a proposition in person.”</p>
<p>The Sword of Mourning’s words were met by a rising silence, broken only by the breeze passing between the gravestones. “It is no secret how. But if you do not know, then I will not tell.” Slinks said with a playfulness to his tones, his high-pitched voice further adding to this notion. The Sword however remained stern faced as ever. “The request still stands.” He replied, turning on heel to leave the Tiefling to his graveside self-reflection and looking skywards. “Three hundred years since the fall. And Neverwinter finally gets to see a sky with a sun for once, instead of the darkness it has endured.” The Sword made a sound of satisfaction at this, departing without another word uttered and instead leaving the Tiefling to fidget to himself, eyes moving back to the grave marker and resting his fingertips to his chest.</p>
<p>“Darkness…</p>
<p>I wonder if the people of Neverwinter will know how long they’ve found themselves in it… Or if they will put this victory down to chance or sheer will..” He muttered to himself, the book hanging at his side hissing quietly in response as he turned to leave himself, humming a lullaby like tune to himself as he made his way in the direction of the castle, the breeze behind him kicking up leaves across the graveyard and a pale, blueish green glow crackling from the name on the grave marker he stood before dissolving the illusion upon it and leaving two decorative I’s, fletched in gold at either side of the name ‘A . Liar’ in its place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The story of Slinks will be continued over time, alongside the stories of characters integral to a far greater plot. All stories tie in to one another in some form or other, so keep a keen eye on what you read.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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